


First Thing

by zebrahat



Series: Spit it Out [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Harry and Draco are girls, Humiliation, M/M, Magical Sex Toys, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Squirting, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, clit clamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebrahat/pseuds/zebrahat
Summary: Harry waits for Malfoy the next morning as instructed.





	First Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Harry and Draco are female-bodied, with masculine pronouns. It just sort of came out that way. Part IV of the Spit it Out series.

Harry’s never felt so utterly ridiculous as he does right now. 

He’s barely recovered from last night’s onslaught and Harry feels certain he can’t take much more of Malfoy’s teasing. And yet, here he is, lying at a slight angle with his back flush against the firm green sofa, head wedged uncomfortably into the gap between the seat cushions. Harry’s arse hangs just over the edge of the sofa, his legs are folded up to his chest and tugged apart as far as he can reasonably manage, spreading his cunt open wide and exposing his slicked-up holes to the chill of the morning air.

A low groan catches in Harry’s throat as he remembers all the times Malfoy’s spanked and squeezed his clit, getting him sore and swollen, working him up and up and right on the edge of orgasm again and again, denying his release every time.

Harry can’t quite believe he’s back for more. His cunt throbs painfully, desperately. Nerves knot up in his stomach – what if Malfoy doesn’t show up? It would be just like him to leave Harry waiting, probably having a good laugh with his mates. Even worse, what if Malfoy does show up? And refuses to cast the counterspell, refuses to let Harry come _again_.

Shivering, Harry grips his ankles a little tighter, and waits, restless anxieties and heady arousal swirling through him. 

“Oh _Potter_ , as if you actually – ”

Malfoy lets out an inelegant snort that turns into a leer as he comes to stand between Harry’s upturned thighs. Harry knows he shouldn’t find this at all hot, but he can’t help it. He shouldn’t find any of this a turn on, he knows that. And yet. 

“All greased up for me, I see. Slick’s dripping down your crack – just how much lube’ve you pumped up your arse, Potter?” 

Harry really hopes Malfoy’s not expecting an answer; he’s embarrassed enough by the fact he’d sneaked through the castle at dawn, clumsily squirted as much lube as he could manage inside himself, feeling it slowly trickle out while he waited, just as Malfoy had predicted. He’s actually relieved when Malfoy just laughs and continues the humiliating appraisal.

“Bum’s pinked up a bit,” Malfoy says, stroking a flat palm over Harry’s bruised cheeks, making him hiss a little at the rough sting. “Oh and now your face to match!” 

Harry’s cheeks do indeed flame up, his clit beginning to twitch under Malfoy’s prurient gaze, thighs trembling with the strain of holding them apart in such an awkward position. 

Harry swoons as Malfoy’s finger pushes roughly into his slick folds, shivering hotly when Malfoy murmurs, “I was right, wasn’t I? Bet you’ve been sopping wet all night, grinding away at the sheets…” And of course Malfoy’s right, but Harry’s certainly not going to confirm it. 

“Your clit’s all puffed-up, Potter, red and rosy, jutting out for me,” he continues, with obvious satisfaction. Malfoy skims the flat of his hand over Harry’s open cunt, smacking leisurely and watching his labia quiver. Bracing a knee on the sofa Malfoy reaches out and grabs Harry’s left leg to steady himself. He forces Harry’s legs a bit wider, stretching and exposing his glistening arsehole just a little more, delighting in how each careless wet slap seems to make Harry leak out messily, his wetness trickling down to join the lube dribbling from his arsehole. 

Malfoy’s barely even got started and Harry’s already flushed and sweaty, rocking up into Malfoy’s hand unwittingly, losing himself in the painful pleasure of each little smack. 

“That’s ten just to warm you up a bit,” Malfoy drawls, looking over his shoulder as Pansy and Blaise barrel into the Room of Requirement, heads bent together, laughing and whispering. Harry stiffens, legs tensing instinctively, but Malfoy’s strong grip prevents them from closing. Malfoy swipes at his thighs ordering him to hold still and, mortified, Harry does. For some reason, Harry hadn’t considered Pansy and Blaise might show up this morning, had thought that this _thing_ , whatever it was, that it was just between him and Malfoy now, and he feels a little stupid for even thinking there might be such a thing as him and Malfoy.

“Ah, you’re right on time,” Malfoy says breezily. “He’s already in _such_ a state, you must come see.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Blaise and Pansy approach, wanting to delay their mockery for just a little longer but Malfoy’s next lazy slap makes Harry jump; to his shame, he lets out a little squeak, too far gone now to suppress his responses, and his buttocks clench tightly in surprise. 

“Look at it oozing out of his arse!” Pansy laughs and carelessly jabs a fingertip into Harry’s anus. 

Harry’s head jerks up at this violation, his nostrils flaring in indignation, but when he unintentionally catches her eye, the sheer relish in her expression at having caught him unawares makes him sink back against the sofa cushions without complaint. 

“His bum’s dripping nearly as wet as his fanny,” says Pansy happily.

“Isn’t it, though?” Malfoy casts a sly glance Harry’s way, lip curling in amusement. “Bit eager of you really, Potter, here you are first thing in the morning dripping lube with your arse in the air,” Malfoy continues, ignoring Harry’s outraged splutter. 

“You _told_ me to!” Harry spits out, exasperated, flushing as he realises the implications of what he’s said. To his immense irritation, the three Slytherins just cackle and Harry’s skin prickles, tight and hot and itchy, though his body still aches with pent-up frustration. 

“You – you said I had to. The spell – ” Harry trails off impotently; he should know better really, than to argue with Malfoy like this. 

“Ahh…” Harry moans feverishly as Malfoy slides cool fingers through his wet folds, stroking delicately over his clit before giving it another sharp slap. The three Slytherins grin at each other in delight when Harry flinches, letting out a choked gasp. 

“You’ve made a right mess of him, Draco,” says Blaise approvingly, mesmerised by Harry’s slick holes and the way his cheeks bounce with every little quick and dirty swipe Malfoy delivers across Harry’s labia and tender inner thighs. 

“You’d think a few slaps would dry him up,” Blaise says, “but if anything he just leaks out even more.”

Malfoy grins up at them both, gripping Harry’s arsecheeks and tugging them further apart. Harry winces as Malfoy’s fingers dig painfully into his oversensitive flesh, squeezing and stretching him wide open and presenting his hole like a target. 

“Who wants a go then?”

Blaise shrugs and rolls up his sleeves. Blaise’s hands are large, Harry notes, with a tremor of fear rushing through his body; they’re much thicker and wider than either Malfoy’s or Pansy’s. 

Slanting his palm up, Blaise’s firm hand crashes down against Harry’s lube-slicked arsehole, making Harry yell out in shock, body lurching wildly. Blaise keeps going, spurred on by the way Harry’s hole twitches frantically between blows. 

Harry can’t stop himself from crying out over and over, legs twisting as he tries to somehow mitigate the impact, but Malfoy’s grip only tightens on his sore buttocks, kneading into the flesh and stretching him open for Blaise to get an even better angle. 

When Pansy throws herself down on the sofa next to Harry, he’s already overwhelmed and oversensitised, so the panic spiking his chest comes as no great surprise. 

“You’ve roughed his tits up so nicely, Draco,” muses Pansy, “I just adore all these lovely little bruises.”

Malfoy’s eyes light up in response, and with fingers still digging roughly into Harry’s arse, he launches into an animated account of the past evening’s activities: how Potter’d writhed and trembled on his lap, Potter’s delicious little gasps and moans, Potter with his arse red raw from a well-deserved spanking, Potter sobbing out with every crack of the wooden paddle against his pretty tits…

“You look like you’re going to cry again right now, Potter,” says Malfoy conversationally. “Doesn’t he?”

The corners of Harry’s eyes have been prickling wetly for a while now, and the little harsh gasps he’s breathing out are about crack in his throat, and he knows it’s only a matter of time. 

Pansy’s sneering only intensifies the burn in his chest. “His eyes are getting all scrunched up,” she says, “poor Potty!” 

Harry tries to catch a breath between the pinches and blows; his whole body convulses as Blaise’s next heavy smack coincides with Pansy’s sharp fingers tweaking his nipples, hard. 

“And your little nips must be so sore,” she continues slyly, giving them another tug that makes Harry ache. Pansy leans back against the sofa, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him half onto her lap so she can play with his tits some more, pushing her fingers into the bruises left by Malfoy’s paddle. 

Harry’s arse is stinging warmly, radiating heat and Blaise drags his palm across the hot, sore flesh, making Harry whimper before tracing a finger lightly around Harry’s bruised hole. “Still wet,” Blaise snorts, “and his little arsehole’s trying to suck me in, look.” Blaise rubs slowly around Harry’s rim, loosely circling but infuriatingly not quite penetrating. Harry cringes, panting, he can’t seem to control the bouncing of his hips, nor the clenching of his hole around Blaise’s fingertip, and neither can he deny that he wants it, he wants everything and anything they’ll give him but no matter how Harry twists and angles his body he just can’t quite get Blaise’s teasing fingers to slip inside.

Harry’s head drops back against Pansy’s shoulder; he groans with frustration, wanting it so much, yet also wanting, desperately, to escape the torture of being stroked and slapped and overstimulated when he’s still not allowed to come. 

He’s too wrecked to notice an unspoken exchange pass between the three of them.

All at once, Harry’s overcome by the dull burn of Blaise’s thick fingers finally plunging into his arse as Pansy cruelly pinches his already-bruised nipples, tugging and squeezing. When Malfoy strokes directly over Harry’s clit, something in him shatters and Harry lets out a great shuddering sob, body trembling with frustration and desire, bucking up against Malfoy’s hand, sore and needy. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy keeps going, faster, rubbing tiny circles that make Harry’s head spin. 

“It’s getting all big and stiff,” says Malfoy, glancing in amusement at Pansy. “Feel it.”

Pansy shifts Harry up a bit on her lap, releasing his nipples from their torment so she can snake a hand down to join Malfoy, their fingers sliding and slipping together over Harry’s swollen clit. 

“He must be about to pop,” she says, eyeing Blaise in turn. 

Harry can’t decide what makes him cringe the most; when they address him directly it’s always to tease or humiliate him, yet being ignored and his reactions discussed so dispassionately makes some deeply buried part of him squirm with horrible pleasure. 

Harry cries out as Malfoy jerks him up by the hair roughly with one hand, the other splaying his labia, tugging his folds taut and pressing down firmly. Malfoy’s fingers form a ‘V’ and he gently squeezes the base of Harry’s clit, making it jut out obscenely, pink and shiny.

Everyone stills for a moment, the air thick with anticipation until Harry feels the soft curve of Blaise’s fingers twisting inside him, pulling out at a maddeningly glacial pace until just the tip rests at his rim. 

Blaise revels in holding a few seconds too long before finally withdrawing his lube-sticky hand, leaving Harry gasping and empty. 

Harry feels the quiver of Pansy’s mirth as she pulls him flush against her chest, his back sticking damply to her shirt. She strokes lightly, idly, around the hard tips of his nipples and Harry’s hips snap as his long-awaited orgasm builds and flutters like an agitated Snitch caught helplessly between his thighs.

Harry’s grinding wildly, keening and shaking, unable to get the pressure he needs, and when Malfoy finally releases him, Harry’s almost paralysed by the severity of his arousal. To his utter horror, Harry feels like he might need to piss and so he squirms and clenches urgently. “I’m, I’m—” Harry cries out raggedly, eyes wide with alarm as an arc of clear fluid surges from his cunt, spattering dark grey flecks across Malfoy’s skirt. Hot with shame and lost in pleasure, Harry convulses beautifully, breaking free from Pansy’s hold and lurching forward with a rasping groan, body rocking in a frenzy, fresh spurts of come drenching his thighs. 

Swollen with pleasure, Harry rides out the aftershocks, gasping, the painful intensity of his orgasm still sparking through his body, clit pulsing and cunt spasming even as his limbs begin to limply unravel. His legs meet the floor with a heavy thud and he sprawls across Pansy, wrecked.

Harry doesn’t know if it’s from coming virtually untouched, or simply the torturous slow-burn denial of his orgasm for nearly two days now, but although his arousal far less urgent, it’s barely quelled. 

When Harry’s eyes finally crack open, Malfoy’s right up in his face, smug grin filling his frame of vision. 

“Potter, you _squirted_.” Malfoy turns up to Pansy and Blaise, crowing in delight, “he _actually_ squirted.” 

“Gushed right out of him,” Blaise says, almost admiringly, though he’s sniggering openly, along with Pansy. A flood of shame crashes up against the euphoria still pulsing through Harry’s body. 

“Ooh, go on Draco, rub his clit a bit more, see if he’ll spurt any more out,” grins Pansy. Malfoy obliges, trailing wetly up through Harry’s slit to giving him a little pinch, fingers twisting in a familiar way that makes Harry cry out in a panic.

“No! Fuck, don’t, please,” he stammers, agitated. Another orgasm is building on the heady waves of the first, and Harry doesn’t think he can bear it if Malfoy were to cast his torturous orgasm denial spell for a third time. Not so soon at least, Harry thinks unwittingly. 

“Relax, Potter,” Malfoy snickers, curling his fingers again and making Harry flinch. 

Shifting out from underneath Harry, Pansy leaves him self-conscious and half-slumped across the sofa. He tentatively presses his legs together, wondering if perhaps the morning’s activities were at a close, but of course, Malfoy intervenes. “Not so fast,” he says, placing a hand flat against Harry’s breastbone and firmly pushing him back against the sofa, forcing Harry’s thighs apart once more, this time kneeling between them. 

Malfoy gazes up at Harry, eyes dark and unreadable as he gently parts Harry’s labia. Harry tenses warily, but Malfoy keeps stroking and fondling, slowly working him up until he collapses bonelessly against the cushions.

Harry starts at the familiar tinkle of a tiny bell, but it’s too late; he howls as Malfoy snaps a clamp around his tender flesh, the cold metal mimicking the earlier ‘V’ of Malfoy’s fingers and making the hard nub of his clit stand to attention, blushing a deep cherry red. Searing pleasure-pain grips Harry’s cunt, his stomach roiling at the sharp intensity. Although physically the sensations were not dissimilar to Malfoy’s awful spell, Harry thinks in this case he’s more likely to come again any second. 

Malfoy hauls him up unceremoniously and shoves him in the direction of Pansy and Blaise, who’ve curled together on another sofa that seems to have materialised opposite. He stumbles toward them involuntarily, pain flaring between his legs. 

“What d’you want, Potter?” Pansy says distractedly. 

“I – ” Harry’s too embarrassed to say anything. Pansy and Blaise are quite clearly having a moment. He turns away, but the jangling of the little bell catches Pansy’s attention. 

“Oh.” Pansy’s eyes gleam. “ _Oh_. Look, Blaise.” She flicks at the bell in delight, eyeing Harry carefully to gauge his reaction. 

“I rather thought you’d like it,” Malfoy says, sounding pleased. 

Harry tries so hard to still his hips as Pansy slowly enters his cunt, but every tiny movement makes the bell tinkle softly. 

“Mmm, he’s so warm and slippery, Blaise, feel – ” 

Blaise sits up, resting on one elbow and smooths a hand over the swell of Pansy’s stomach possessively before sinking his finger into Harry alongside Pansy’s.  
“Ride us then,” says Blaise, smirking up at Harry, who looks away but rolls his hips tentatively, embarrassed and wanting more. 

While he’s trying to satisfy Blaise’s demand without seeming too eager, Harry doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. He drops them awkwardly by his sides then raises his arms without quite knowing what he’s intending. Harry’s almost relieved, therefore, when those cool fingers encircle his wrists, though he almost loses his balance as Malfoy draws Harry’s arms behind his back. 

“Faster, go on,” Pansy says in a bored tone. Her gaze is fixed between Harry’s thighs, tongue slipping into the corner of her mouth as she watches the bell rattle.

Harry lets their fingers rub inside of him, the teasing sensation of the fluttering bell becoming more urgent with every fitful rock of his hips. His arousal is only intensified by the sharpness of the clamp seizing the base of his clit, and most of all by the tell-tale hardness that’s pressing firmly against Harry’s buttocks. Harry’s second orgasm slips right through him, sending fire through his belly that spirals lazily between his legs as he pitches forward, held firmly by Malfoy and stuck on Pansy and Blaise’s fingers twining and curling inside him. 

Blaise withdraws first, now seeming much more interested in Pansy, who slides out of Harry, gently flicking over his sensitive clit and caressing the edges of the metal clamp. “Ah,” Harry grimaces in discomfort, trying to draw back from her touch but succeeding only in grinding against Malfoy’s strapped-on cock. First gently pinching the nub of Harry’s clit between her fingertips, Pansy gives the bell another nudge, snorting a little under her breath as it rings out, then carefully releasing the clamp. Harry yells and twists but Pansy just keeps petting at his overstimulated clit, dragging slick up through Harry’s folds. 

“Not long ‘til class now,” says Pansy, regretfully. “You’d better hurry up, Draco.” She grins up at Harry, “put on a show for us, won’t you darling?”

Harry doesn’t know what more Malfoy could possibly have planned. He’s come twice already, and in the most undignified ways he can think of. As Malfoy leads him away, Harry overhears snatches of Blaise and Pansy whispering. 

“Did you feel that? His whole cunt just clamped down when he came…”

“Can’t say I minded watching his little tits bounce either…” 

A now-familiar mortification blooms in Harry’s chest, but as usual Malfoy quickly commands his full attention. 

“On your knees Potter, and quick about it.”

Harry’s stomach flips but he gingerly slides to the floor. Malfoy’s led him around a corner of the Room he hadn’t known was there, or perhaps had only just manifested. Harry noticed that the alcove seemed designed to lend Pansy and Blaise privacy with whatever they were getting up to, but that of course this courtesy didn’t extend to Harry. 

“Spread your legs a bit more.” Harry glares up at Malfoy, but does what he’s told despite having come to the unpleasant realisation that since Malfoy’s taken the spell off, Harry really has no rational justification for staying, never mind obeying. 

Still turning this over in his mind, Harry’s eyes snap to Malfoy’s waistband as Malfoy drops his skirt. Hi mouth waters at the sight of Malfoy’s plastic prick bobbing between his legs. 

“Suck it – no wait, close your eyes.” Malfoy takes a small step back. 

“Now come and get it.”

Harry complies, inching forward, mouth wide and eyes closed, searching blindly for Malfoy’s prick. The tip nudges his cheek and Harry turns to take it in, but Malfoy makes him work for his mouthful of cock, stepping back again so Harry has to shuffle clumsily forward on his knees, saliva pooling in his open mouth. After taunting him a bit more, letting the head slip past Harry’s lips before pulling back, once, twice and again, Malfoy finally allows the wet heat of Harry’s mouth to envelop him, breathing in sharply as he pushes inside. Slotting his synthetic cock between Harry’s lips and rocking gently, Malfoy doesn’t force it or push in too far, simply rubs slowly in and out. 

Caressing Harry’s neck, Malfoy dips a thumb in the hollow of his throat, applying a little pressure. Harry’s eyes flutter and his breathing shallows. Malfoy files that away for later and instead rakes his nails across Harry’s jaw with one hand and curls the other into Harry’s hair, tilting his head back. Harry looks up at him desperately, green eyes glassy, pink lips spread wide. 

“Look at you, you’re dying for it aren’t you?” Malfoy murmurs. He fucks into Harry’s mouth faster now, pulls all the way out, letting a string of saliva track down Harry’s chin as he thrusts back in. 

“I spanked your tits last night,” Malfoy muses, “that was 18, Potter – yes, I was counting. And your poor, needy cunt took another ten this morning.”  
Harry gazes up, uncertain, sucking Malfoy’s prick messily. It had been far more than ten, thinks Harry, forehead creasing. And Blaise…Harry cringes hotly remembering how Malfoy had exposed his arsehole so Blaise could spank it. Harry tries to voice this discrepancy, to jerk his head free from Malfoy’s cock, but Malfoy grips his hair firmly. 

“Oh darling Potter, you didn’t think Blaise’s counted, did you?” Malfoy says fondly. Barely giving Harry time to process this, Malfoy yanks Harry’s head back, his cock slipping out with a trail of spittle. 

Malfoy brings his hand down, not too hard, but the wet smack resounds through the castle walls as he slaps Harry’s wide-open, spit-slicked lips. Stunned, Harry nearly chokes. The impact of it fizzes in his ears and Harry shakes his head as if to dislodge something. Pansy and Blaise’s low-pitched voices garble through the low buzz in his skull. 

Malfoy brushes the backs of his knuckles tenderly over Harry’s cheeks, before slapping at them too, sharp little taps, not too much weight behind them, just enough to sting in the cold morning air. Harry moans helplessly as Malfoy’s fingers plunge into his open mouth and Malfoy can’t take it, he shoves his prick between those plumped-up lips, groaning out his own pleasure. 

“Six,” he breathes shakily, pressing his cock a little deeper, hitting the back of Potter’s warm throat, making him gag and holding him on his cock, unyielding, and watching intently as Potter starts to shake and twist around him. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Potter,” he says gruffly, right before he comes, spurting deep into Harry’s throat, pulling out to dribble sticky stripes across Harry’s lips, fucking back in and slapping Harry’s come-splattered jaw, smearing spunk and spit across Harry’s face. 

His cock doesn’t go soft though, and that’s the beauty of having a plastic prick, isn’t it? He could keep fucking between Potter’s slicked-up lips if he wants to, but he’s got a better idea. 

Malfoy taps at the base of his prick and extricates himself from the harness that ripples from his skin, leaving the hard plastic stuffed in Harry’s mouth. Delivering quick little taps with the flat of his hand, Malfoy drills the dildo deeper inside, hitting the soft flesh of Harry’s throat and making him gag, Harry’s thighs pushing forwards as he tries to take it, shoulders quaking, eyes filling up anew.

After slapping the dildo into Harry’s mouth, Malfoy’s overcome by the sight of him. Breathing hard, Malfoy gazes down at the fresh bruises blossoming on Potter’s tits, his spread thighs straining, clit indecently red and sore between them, pretty pink mouth glistening wet and stretched around plastic. Stifling a groan, Malfoy clasps Harry’s hair tightly, pressing his cunt urgently against Harry’s face. 

Harry feels like he’s drowning, Malfoy’s scent is intoxicating, overwhelming his senses. Malfoy is so slick and wet and pressed so roughly against his face and it’s devastating – Harry wishes his mouth weren’t so full of fake cock, that he could spit out the dildo and push his tongue into Malfoy’s opening, suck Malfoy’s clit greedily into his mouth and make him come apart. 

Grasping and tugging at Harry’s hair, Malfoy grinds against Harry’s chin, swearing as he catches his labia on the flared base of the plastic, rubbing his wetness onto Harry’s cheeks. 

Jaw aching, Harry presses eagerly into Malfoy, making him stumble and pitch his leg forward to steady himself. Harry rocks into the motion, his groan muffled as his still-throbbing cunt meets the smooth bare flesh of Malfoy’s ankle. They grind and rock desperately until they both come, rutting up against one another.  
Immediately, Malfoy backs away from Harry, panting and uncharacteristically flustered, a faint blush lighting up his cheekbones. 

“I – I’ve,” Harry croaks out. He clears his throat and tries again, unable to look Malfoy in the eye as he mumbles something about getting to class. 

Grabbing his wand, Malfoy loosens the ropes around Harry’s wrists. Harry rubs at them warily, ducking his head, self-conscious of the come and spit beginning to dry on his lips and cheeks. But as he shifts to relieve the pressure on his knees, the bonds twirl and loop in the air, recapturing him and drawing his arms above his head. 

“Wha – ” 

“You’d better hurry if you want to make it to Potions,” Malfoy interrupts. The corners of Harry’s eyes crease in confusion, he looks up at Malfoy cagily, all too used to Malfoy’s tricks by now. 

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, I – ” 

Malfoy pushes Harry back and straddles him, smirking away, having evidently recaptured his composure. Harry shivers as Malfoy’s wetness trails across his stomach. Not moments ago, Malfoy had seemed as incoherent with arousal as Harry himself and closer than ever before to unravelling. 

“The ropes are charmed,” Malfoy says conversationally, “so they’ll release when you’ve come.”

Harry stares up at Malfoy in disbelief. He’s been so utterly desperate to come for two days, and now, three shattering orgasms later, he’s wrung out and sore, overstimulated and it’s too much, it’s simply not possible, he’s not going to come again. “What’s the matter?” Malfoy asks slyly. “You’ve been dying to rub one out these last few days, don’t deny it.”

“No,” Harry says weakly as his legs are magically yanked apart and bound securely. 

“Oh yes, Potter,” Malfoy says, a wicked grin lighting him up. “You’ve been absolutely gagging for it. And I’m not cruel, mind you, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you without some assistance.” With a flourish, Malfoy charms a pair of vicious clamps to tweak at Harry’s tits, snapping their jaws around his nipples in a brutal pulsing rhythm. 

Harry’s head swims, vision blurring out. 

A soft whirring sound snaps Harry back to reality; a small, smooth vibrator shudders to life, poised directly above Harry’s clit. It’s just enough pressure to drive him crazy, but probably not quite enough to make him come – certainly not for a fourth time, Harry thinks. No, he realises, Malfoy wants him to work for it, to press his hips up and – 

“Hump it, Potter!” Pansy giggles from across the room. Harry’s come-splattered cheeks heat, but he’s too far gone to stop now, even if he wanted to.

“And don’t worry, I’ve not forgotten your bum – after all you did oil it up so nicely for me,” Malfoy says cheerfully, grinning down at Harry. 

Harry groans at the familiar churn of thick plastic pumping slickly inside him. He can scarcely believe it, but faint stirrings of desire are beginning to ignite, coiling low in his belly. Trembling fiercely now, Harry watches helplessly as Malfoy winks and turns toward Pansy and Blaise, joining their debate on whether Potter’ll get out of the ropes, placing bets on if Potter will make it to class and the state Potter’s likely to be in if he does. 

The three of them link arms, the chatter of their voices fading and Harry shivers, dreading to think what the stakes of their wager might be and what, exactly, the winner might claim as their prize. Eyes falling closed, Harry lets out a small whimper of defeat as he arches feverishly toward the vibrator, tremors pulsing through his body, gasping as the clamps bite at his too-sore nipples, every slide of the dildo rubbing and aching, filling up his well-used hole.


End file.
